The Goda War

by Deborah Chester

  Brock shook his head helplessly. He was not an astroscientist. “I don’t know. The fourth planet will certainly be laid waste. Slath may suffer damage. The extent—”

  Letting his voice trail off, he looked at the third goda. It was the farthest away from galaxy center. It was located in a system he did not recognize on the opposite side of the galaxy from the Colonid borders. An information request from the computers revealed no life forms inhabiting that system. He frowned at it.

  “Goda Tertiary is barren. To activate it would harm no one,” he said slowly. For once he wished he had never learned to encourage his emotions. They were clouding his thinking. “But it is in the wrong position. Goda Prime, however, is closest to Colonid territory—”

  “That is Felca!” said Rho angrily. His eyes, pupils flaring, swung to Brock. “The source of your species. Your spawning place.”

  Brock withdrew behind the protection of the Disciplines. He was not sure whether he saw dismay or accusation in Rho’s expression. “It is the only inhabited goda,” he said neutrally.

  “You knew this.” Rho drew breath with a sharp hiss. “Always you knew this. And she knows it, too. That is why she tried to betray us.”

  “She didn’t betray us. She kept the Colonids occupied away from the transcender terminals while we—”

  Rho whistled, gesturing this aside. “I do not say she is on the side of the Colonids. But she is on the side of Felca. She will not let you destroy it. At least Slath has a chance, but your world—”

  “We will none of us have worlds soon,” said Brock grimly. “If the Colonids have their way, we’ll all be nothing more than fodder for their labor camps. Right now we are scattered, demoralized. But once we begin to form cohesive resistance, they will shatter worlds as they shattered Mabruk. The godas are the only things they fear.” His eyes shifted back to Felca on the screen.

  “But there are how many people living on Felca?”

  “The population is small. It is not a hospitable world, even for us.” Brock looked sharply at Rho. “I know what you are trying to say. And surely you can guess my response. What are the lives of a few million if the billions populating the Held can be spared?”

  Rho clicked disconsolately in his throat. “I have not your strength, Dire-lord. But neither was I exiled—”

  “That is not why I am willing to activate Goda Prime!” snapped Brock angrily. “I am not concerned with petty revenge. If the suprin had not commanded me, I would not—” He broke off, breathing harshly as he fought to regain control. A dire-lord was accountable to no one save the suprin himself. He did not have to explain.

  “Perhaps,” said Rho hesitantly, cocking his head to one side, “it would be better to wait until we contact Esmir Eondal.”

  Brock shook his head. “There is not time.”

  “But we are free. We have escaped the Colonids—”

  “Have we? I am not so sure.” Brock grimaced, trying to put his uneasiness into words. “Falmah-Al would have thought of all contingencies. Stop looking at me in that way! Do you think I am eager to destroy my own—” He broke off, averting his eyes as a wave of emotion overtook him. I cannot do it, he thought in defeat. I am so tired. I cannot keep fighting myself as well as them.

  “If I offend with what I say, I am sorry,” said Rho quietly, lifting a clawtip to scratch one tall, pointed ear. “You are renowned throughout the Held, the first of your kind since the ancient days of legend to carry the rank of dire-lord. You have had to try harder than anyone else to become what you are. But surely there comes a time when it is wrong to try too hard, when there is a time to listen and to step aside from the stronger tide.”

  “Are you saying I should surrender?”

  Rho met Brock’s bleak eyes without evasion. “You know what I am saying. On Slath we have a proverb. Ach’tk s. Tass mut ’k onsis sul. One can fight the universe, but not the heart. You worry much about your soul, Dire-lord. What does it tell you to do?”

  Brock stared at the chart without seeing it. Rho’s words had struck home. Shame, disappointment, and relief mixed within him. He had battled Felca for such a long time he had fallen into the error of severe logic. Felca was the closest goda, and therefore the primary choice. But if he entered personal value into his decision, that changed his set of alternatives. And if he entered compassion into the decision, he could not act against Rho’s system either. That left Goda Tertiary, and the offsetting factors of its inaccessibility. He realized suddenly that he had been guilty of all the narrow, restrictive thinking he hated most in his race. Was it necessary to unleash destruction? The Colonids feared the concept of the godas so greatly they could surely be bluffed. It would be sufficient just to activate Goda Tertiary. He would not have to destroy millions of innocent lives. He would not have to bear that responsibility.

  An immense weight dropped from him. He blinked, feeling buoyant, stronger, relieved.

  “Plot a course for the third goda,” he said. “I think we can use it to bluff the Colonids into scurrying home. We may not even have to rip it out of orbit.”

  “This is your decision?” Eyes gleaming, Rho let his hands hover over the controls.

  “Do we have enough fuel to reach it? What would be our estimated completion time?”

  “Three weeks at this speed,” said Rho after a moment’s rapid computation. “Insufficient fuel. But there are fueling stops gridded along these sectors—” he pointed along the screen—“within an eight-day reach of that system. If we are not intercepted we could get there. If we are not intercepted.”

  “And if we are not detained at any of the fueling stops.”

  “The risk factor of failure increases with distance,” said Rho, then hissed. “Merc! I am inconsistent. I urge you first to listen to your heart, then your head. You are the dire-lord. The suprin entrusted you with this task; therefore, you are the best qualified to make the decisions.”

  Yes, the suprin. Brock got up from his seat restlessly and stared at the ladder well for a moment without seeing it. His warrior instincts, learned and grafted on with such difficulty, all screamed at him to jump rapidly to the offensive by activating Goda Prime as soon as he could get there. But all that was Sedkethran within him cried out against it. Would Utdi have condemned him for what he wanted to do now?

  As though sensing the chaos of his thoughts, Ellisne chose that moment to climb up the ladder to join them. Brock looked at the smooth coils of black hair, the wide pale brow, and those large luminous eyes as they lifted to meet his. Inside, that which was left of the suprin in his thoughts snarled a Chaimu curse. Forgive me, Utdi, he thought. As I tore myself away from the magstrusi, so must I tear myself away from you. I loved you as a father. I admired you enough to try to become Chaimu. But I must be my own self, whatever that is. I must make my decisions as I would make them, not as Magstrus Olbin would or you would.

  As his thoughts faded, he realized he was still staring at her. She was frowning, her lips parted as though she wanted to speak but did not dare. Brock tore his gaze from hers to glance at Rho.

  “If you’ve plotted the course,” he said, “lay it in. Goda Tertiary.”

  Rho grinned broadly as he moved to comply, but Ellisne was still frowning as she finished her climb into the cockpit. There was barely enough room for the two of them to stand behind Rho’s chair.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Where is this goda?”

  Brock pointed at the chart. “There,” he said, telling himself that he had made his decisions independently of her influence, yet he could not keep his gaze from moving back to her face to see her reaction. “It is uninhabited and located in a barren system.”

  Relief flashed across her face before she smoothed her expression back under control. “But I thought…we are closest to Felca, which is in a direct line to the Colonid borders.”

  “Yes,” said Brock in a low, rigidly controlled voice. “The Chaimu training in me says attack with Felca. The Sedkethran says surrender. Neithe
r are acceptable. I intend to bluff with the third goda. Am I wrong?”

  For the first time she smiled at him. She even reached out and took his hand, and the warmth of her approval and relief flowed into him like a rich drink.

  “No, you are not wrong,” she said firmly. “Trust the deeper voice. Heed what it tells you, and do not be troubled.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “They may call the bluff. I may still have to pull the goda from orbit. I may have to do more than activate it. I am not taking a Sedkethran solution.”

  “You are still—” Her eyes narrowed upon him with sudden concern. “This can be discussed later. You should rest.”

  “Sic,” agreed Rho emphatically as Brock pulled free of her grasp. “Rest is needed. You will need your energy later, Dire-lord. Trust my piloting. We are steady on course, and the sensors will give us warning if necessary.”

  Brock could no longer deny his exhaustion, not to himself or to them. “Very well.”

  He followed Ellisne down the ladder and through a narrow door into the ship’s living quarters. These were as cramped as the cockpit. Most of the ship’s space allotment had been designed for the engines and the hold.

  Ellisne folded out four bunks from wall compartments, and Brock crawled onto one of the lower ones. There was not room enough to stand when all the bunks were down. He stretched himself out with a sigh and a wince for his sore body.

  “How will you rest?” he asked her, frowning as he watched her climb onto one of the upper bunks. “There are no suspensor plates.”

  She smiled remotely as she folded her limbs into a graceful attitude of the Disciplines. “I shall meditate on two levels only. That way I need not fear drifting, but it should permit enough of my metabolism to rest.”

  He nodded. He had used that method himself more than once, especially before achieving the rank of dire-lord and enough status to command the luxury of his own suspensor plates instead of a conventional Chaimu bed. Meditation served the purpose, but after a while the body still felt unrested and reaction time slowed. Before their three weeks of travel time were up, he would show her how he had learned to compensate for those deficiencies; that is, providing she would trust him enough to let him teach her.

  Trust, he thought, shifting his position restlessly on the hard bunk. His body ached; it was tempting to inventory all the damage not yet repaired but he sidestepped the activity as wasteful. His head still throbbed a little from the effort of coming through the transender, and he was very, very tired.

  He fought back the weariness, however, aware of her eyes watching him steadily. An old despair he thought he had conquered years ago surfaced. Will I ever find anyone to share with and trust again? She is momentarily satisfied with a tactically weak decision, but she does not admire me for it. Or does she?

  “Yes, I do,” she answered as with a slight sense of shock he realized he had let his shields down. She stretched out a hand as he forced his drooping eyes open wide. “Don’t. I will not invade you while you sleep. I just could not help…” Her voice trailed off and her gaze fell from his. Her hands dropped from the position of meditation in a small gesture of agitation.

  “Ellisne,” he said quietly. “At first you hated me. Then you feared me. I will not harm you—”

  “I know.” Her eyes flashed to his, then fell away again. “I have learned this. And you have learned compassion.”

  It was his turn to be uncomfortable. “Perhaps.”

  “I was coming up to apologize,” she said after a moment’s pause. “I have spoken cruelly to you out of my own insecurities. It is unforgivable conduct. I am ashamed.”

  “Don’t be.” He lifted himself up on one elbow. “I have goaded you from the moment we met.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes met his directly then in simple accusation. “You have. And you know—surely you must know—that their orders are not easy to disobey, even if I wanted to do so. You are considered an alarming danger—” She broke off, staring into the distance for a moment. “I bend to the greater wisdom of the magstrusi. I know they sent me to control you for reasons which I need not understand, but…”

  “Ellisne.”

  “I am not worthy of the task! I lack the abilities and the strength. As do they! They could not control you when you still were on Felca, and you have grown stronger. Your mental capacities are immense, far greater than theirs. Surely they must have foreseen this. Then why did they send me?” Her eyes were enormous, pleading. “Why? They knew I would fail, yet they sent me. Did they want me to fail? I have been their best pupil, their strongest acolyte since you—” She gasped, and grew transparently pale as realization crossed her face. “That’s it, isn’t it?” she said in a hollow voice that made him ache for her.

  He held himself silent, knowing that she must work through it herself.

  She shut her eyes. “They wanted me to fail. They hoped you would destroy me, confuse me, negate my Disciplines so that I could never go back.”

  Brock waited.

  She opened her eyes, and they were dull. Her features were blurring, growing indistinct as she drifted half in and half out of dimensional sequence. “They fear me. That’s why they chose me to come to you.”

  “Yes. I suspected it as soon as I saw you.” He hesitated, fearing to go too far when her wound was so new, but then he remembered all the brief moments they had been linked and knew she was strong enough to withstand what she must be told. “You are not the first they have sent into exile, Ellisne.”

  “But it makes no sense!” she cried, her voice full of anguish. “I am no threat to them. I have done nothing wrong. I have submitted willingly to the training they chose for me. Why should they punish me like this? I can’t bear to be alone. I haven’t your strength. I can’t—”

  He thrust himself off the bunk and reached out to gather her into his arms. She was rigid with grief and fear, and her emotions, so long repressed, flooded through him in an overwhelming tide.

  “You are not alone, Ellisne,” he said softly over and over. “You are not alone. I will help you.”

  She clung to him tightly, drawing upon the reassurance he offered. His weariness was forgotten as he sat on the bunk and rocked her gently with his chin resting upon the top of her head. Her silken black hair smelled of tyra and hrrym, the gentle herbs so beloved by the women of Felca. Brock closed his eyes and let his memories surge back to better times, when he had been very young, before Change when he had lain in his blankets upon the bank of his mother’s bathing pool, when he had not yet discovered that he was forged of rebellion and talent.

  “You said there were others,” Ellisne said after a long while. “What happened to them?”

  “One could not accept it. He went back to Felca and asked to be retrained.”

  She drew in her breath sharply. “But that cannot—”

  “No. It cannot work.” He sighed. “The other one simply faded away.”

  “You mean flicked and never came back.”

  Lost in the grimness of his hatred of the magstrusi, Brock did not answer.

  She pulled away from him. “Brock, I must ask something which invades your privacy.”

  He smiled, amused by her sudden return to formality. “Ask.”

  “When they discovered that you were stronger, that you could not be controlled, how did they send you away?”

  “I was not sent,” he said sharply, too sharply. “I escaped. I made my discoveries about them before they made theirs about me. But it was a long time before I dared face the truth. We are so ingrained to respect them, to obey them in everything. We never question. We never seek alternative routes. We never disobey. How hard it is to realize they are a dangerous sham, jealous of their power and determined to hold others from what they themselves achieved so long ago.” He looked into Ellisne’s widened eyes and permitted his anger to soften. “There are Writings that you would have never seen, even if they had not sent you away.”

  The wounded expression in her eyes
made him swear to himself in Chaimu. It was not easy to overcome such a shock. The others had not succeeded, but she must. She must!

  Brock stared down at his fists, clenched so hard they were shaking, and knew that he must persuade her to let him help her survive. He needed her. For so long he had been alone, a stranger, an oddity, set apart by his rank and his race. He had filled that void with service to the suprin. He had poured all of his loyalty and abilities into that service, determined to survive, determined to withstand the magstrusi, determined to have some purpose to his existence other than hatred. Now he had lost the suprin. The new place he had carved out for himself had been destroyed by the Colonids. And when he had succeeded in carrying out the suprin’s last wish, what would he have? Ellisne’s arrival had given him a hope he had never dared indulge before. After all, a promadi was shunned by all Sedkethrans as something to be abhorred. A promadi could not take a lifemate, could not share, could not enjoy the experience of siring children. A promadi was alone. With Ellisne, so beautiful and agile of mind, he need never be alone again.

  He sensed her withdrawal and quickly gripped her cold hands. “Ellisne! Please don’t be afraid. I will help you. If you will only trust me, I can help you.”

  She shook her head. “You are different, Brock. You are what they have tried to keep from developing for centuries.”

  He caught his breath. “You know? Great Meir, you are more talented than I thought, to see it.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, frowning. “Anyone can. It shines from you, even when you are hurt and tired as you are now. Why do you think all your excited talk about evolving and trying out new abilities frightened me so? It’s not easy to meet someone whose existence has been foretold by the Writings. You are like the ancient ones, the ones who came before…” Her voice trailed off on a queer note, and she clutched his fingers.

  “Yes,” he said gently, smoothing her hair away from her face. “The ones who came before the Chaimu installed Sedkethrans on Felca, the ones who used to stand shoulder to shoulder with the mightiest legends of the Chaimu Empire, the ones who helped the Chaimu design the godas. We have been bred into tiny, docile entities, restricted and suppressed, hidden from the truth of our true origins. There are so few of us left now who even have the capability to see through the Disciplines and the Writings for what they really are. You are one, Ellisne. Don’t be afraid of that! Be proud of it. It is your true heritage.”